Texas Strong
by FoxyWombat
Summary: A little bit of baby Cricket, which means it's more about Daddy Bo and her mama at the moment...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I know the show's been cancelled and I know I should be updating my Blake/Cricket story, but in writing their backstory this got into my head and I had to run with it.

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**Texas Strong**

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-March 1973-

The beeping was the first noise Delilah heard. It took a while for her semiconscious brain to recognize that the rhythmic beep corresponded with her own heartbeat. She thought back to what she remembered. She had been at coffee hour talking with Bitsy Lourd and Gigi Stopper—Bitsy was being her usual icy self but Gigi was marginally warmer, probably as a result of her own pregnancy—when the cramps hit. Two days from her own due date, Gigi had joked that there was no way that Delilah's seven-month-tiny-self was going to beat her to it. Delilah had laughed before sinking into a chair.

She vaguely remembered someone—she wasn't sure who—scooping her up and carrying her to a car, but the rest was a blur. Blinking open her eyes to see a sterile white room, she confirmed that she was indeed in the hospital. Her eyes fell on her husband—seated on a small couch near the window—who was too engrossed in whatever file he was reading to notice she was awake. She studied his face, searching for some sign of what had happened with the baby, but his expression was unreadable.

"Clint," she said finally.

He looked up at the sound of her voice and set his papers on the couch next to him. "Hey darlin'," he said as he moved to sit in the chair next to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she said with a shrug that caused an unexpected pain in her abdomen.

"Here." He reached over and hit the call button for the nurse. "They'll get you somethin' for the pain."

"I'm fine," she lied. The dull ache in her abdomen was spreading, but she did her best to ignore it. She needed to know about her baby. "Clint…is…"

"A little on the small side."

"But he's okay?"

"She is."

A girl. They had a daughter. The baby—the one everyone said had to be a boy because she was carrying low and was craving salty food—was a girl. The pregnancy had been complication free—even minimal morning sickness, which supposedly had been another sign that it would be a boy—so they never had an ultrasound. Besides, Clint had been certain he would have a son.

Looking at him now, she could tell he was disappointed but Delilah was secretly happy she had a daughter. Even though she had been living in Dallas for almost two years, she still didn't feel entirely at home there. Having grown up in Austin, she didn't have the same life-long connection the rest of the women had. Her pregnancy had brought her marginally closer to some of them, but even with Gigi, who—as the wife of her husband's oldest friend—arguably should be her friend too, thing still felt forced.

It would be different with her daughter—Delilah would finally have someone who would just be hers. As her mind began conjuring images of mother-daughter shopping sprees and manicures, she remembered her husband. "Don't worry," she assured him. "The next one will be a boy." Instead of agree verbally, he gave her what seemed like little more than a cursory node before standing abruptly and excusing himself to see what was keeping the nurse.

His non-response made sense once the doctor came into the room and started talking. There had been complications. A placental abruption—there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. The baby had been in clear distress so they delivered immediately—there were some respiratory complications due to the prematurity but they were minor considering and she was responding well to treatments. Delilah, on the other hand, hadn't bounced back as easily. After the c-section there had been bleeding—so much bleeding that she stopped clotting properly and started going into a condition called DIC. The only way to stop it was to remove her uterus.

The doctor's words stunned her. This wasn't supposed to happen; she was young and healthy. Twenty-one-year-olds don't get hysterectomies. The entire time the doctor was talking she tried to catch her husband's eye, but Clint wouldn't—or couldn't—look at her, so when the doctor asked her about pain and offered her morphine, she took it willingly—grateful for an excuse to shut out the world. As she started to drift off, her mind went to her one-day-old daughter alone in the NICU. "Clint," she said tiredly. "The baby's all alone. Go be with her?" she asked. Delilah was asleep before she heard the answer.

When she awoke late the next morning, Delilah found an array of flowers and balloons that had materialized over night. Word must be out, she thought as she hit the call button for the nurse. She pictured the other women of the church waiting for confirmation on the baby's health before making the decision whether to send congratulations or sympathy flowers. For a moment, she wondered if they knew of her complications. She could just hear Bitsy Lourd speculating on what Delilah must have done to bring on them on.

"Good morning, Mrs. Caruth," the nurse said brightly. Her cheery attitude as she checked Delilah's vitals effectively distracted her from her thoughts about what she could have done differently.

"Your husband had to take and call and is using one of our conference rooms," the nurse explained as she finished making a few notes on her chart. "I can get him for you."

"Let him finish the call." The company was in the middle of an acquisition in Houston and she knew Clint was going crazy since he had to leave the deal and fly back to Dallas when she went into labor. Besides, what would they talk about—the son she'd never be able to give him? "How's my daughter?" she asked instead.

"The doctor approved her release from the NICU during morning rounds."

"May I see her?"

"Of course. I'll go get her now."

While she waited for the nurse to return, Delilah's eyes fell to the flowers and she thought of Gigi. It was Tuesday—the other woman's due date—so she was probably somewhere in the hospital having a normal, complication-free labor. Gigi would have the perfect labor and probably look glamorous through the whole thing. All thoughts of Gigi, however, disappeared when the nurse returned and placed her daughter in her arms. Delilah was so caught up in memorizing every detail of her daughter that she barely noticed the nurse leave.

"Hello, sweet pea," she said softly. "I'm your mama and you're my little—well, we need to work on the name thing—but you're my baby girl for now and for always." She was surprised when the door opened to reveal her husband. "It told the nurse not to interrupt you."

"I'm glad she did—now I get to see both my girls."

She smiled as he sat down in the chair by the bed. "Did they tell you she's out of the NICU?"

He nodded. "She's strong—a fighter."

"Like her daddy."

"She's got her mama's eyes."

Delilah looked from the baby's light blue eyes to the brown fuzz on her head. "And her daddy's hair." He smiled but didn't say anything. "Clint," she began hesitantly. "I know you wanted…"

He cut her off, "No use talking about it. This one's perfect."

"She is." Delilah agreed. They both fell quiet—content to watch their daughter. As the tiny girl began to drift off to sleep, she began making a noise that was something between a gurgle and squeak. "Is she snoring?"

"Nurse said it happens with preemies—laryngo-somethin'. She should grow out of it in a couple months, but until then she's our own little cricket."

"Our cricket?"

"Last night I decided she sounded like crickets chirping."

Delilah smiled as she thought of her husband spending the night watching his baby girl sleep. It was an image that she wanted to keep with her so that she could share it with the little girl one day—a way for her to know just how much her daddy loved her. "Cricket," she repeated, more to herself than to him. "I like it. What do you think?"

"You mean for a name?"

"You don't like it?"

"It's just different."

"Our daughter is one of kind."

"That she is," he agreed. "It does have a nice ring to it."

"What you think?" she asked the baby. Looking back up at her husband, she smiled and said, "She didn't wake up, so she must like it."

"Well, then it's official. Welcome to the world, Cricket Caruth."

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A/N: Okay, that last line was pretty cheesy, but for some reason I picture Daddy Bo getting a little sappy/cheesy over his daughter-even if he wanted a son. Anyway, this is a one shot for now, but as I keep going in my other story, I may decided to dapple in Cricket's childhood just a little more.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I think I have a little too much fun making up stories about Cricket's childhood. This going to be chapter two of four, and I hope you all enjoy it!

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-October1981-

"Mr. Caruth, your 3:30 just arrived."

"Send her in." He stood up from behind his desk and walked forward to greet his guest with a formal handshake. "Miss Cricket."

"Daddy Bo," she said seriously while shaking his hand with all the professionalism her eight-and-a-half-year-old self could muster.

This had been their Thursday afternoon pattern for nearly three months. One afternoon in August, Clint returned from a meeting to find Cricket doing her homework in his office. Delilah was on day ten of a thirty day _retreat_ in Arizona and Cricket had grown tired of spending all her time with the nanny and maid. Clint still wasn't entirely sure how his daughter convinced the driver to take her to the office after school, but if anyone was stubborn enough to make it happen, it was his Cricket, so when she showed up at his office the first Thursday after Delilah returned to Texas, he didn't have the heart to send her home to her mama.

"How has your day been?" Cricket asked as they walked over to the couch to the side of the room.

"Busy but good." He took her backpack as she shrugged it from her shoulders and carried it over to the couch. Setting it on the coffee table, he asked, "How was school?"

"Busy but good," she echoed as she sat down. "We had our times tables test today."

"What numbers are you doin'?" It was a question that he knew he should know the answer to, but work kept him late at the office all week so he hadn't seen Cricket since Sunday.

"Most of the class is still on their fives and sixes, but Bill, Blake, and me—I mean, Bill, Blake, and I," she corrected before he even gave her a questioning look about her grammar. "Took the eights test today."

"And?"

"Blake and I got 'em all right. Bill got 8x7 wrong, which was silly because we _just_ did our sevens last week and he got 7x8 right and it's the _same_ thing."

Clint let out a half smile at her melodramatic retelling. "That doesn't make a lick of sense," he agreed.

"I know. He's not as smart as Blake and I." This time he had to give her a look about the grammar. "Blake and me," she corrected and he nodded.

"Are you going to practice your nines this afternoon?"

She shook her head. "Mama's got my flashcards at home."

"Then what homework are you doin'?"

"Science."

"Do you need any help?"

"No."

"You holler at me if you need somethin'."

"Yes, sir."

Clint stood up and returned to his own desk. He watched her pull out a folder with a bright, multi-colored zebra on the front followed by a book on planets. Once she settled back against the couch cushions with her book, Clint returned to his own work. Cricket worked so quietly that he almost forgot she was there, so he was half-surprised to see her standing next to his desk when he hung up the phone about an hour later.

"Daddy Bo?"

"Yes, darlin'?"

She put her book on his desk and pointed at the word dioxide. "What's this word?"

He looked at the page in her book and back up at her. "What do you think it is?"

"The book says it's what's in Venus' air, but I don't know how to say it—I can't sound it out."

"Dioxide."

"Dioxide," she repeated. "Like what trees breathe in?"

"That's carbon dioxide—this is sulfur dioxide."

"Oh, okay." She took the book back. "Thanks, Daddy Bo."

"You're welcome, Cricket." She nodded and walked back to the couch. He was about to turn back to his work when he heard his wife's voice in his head. _Can you at least pretend like you're interested in your daughter? She says you barely talk to her when she's at your office._ In the midst of their argument, he told his wife that he was too busy running the company to play babysitter, but now—looking at his daughter mouthing out the words in her book as she read—he realized that he could at least ask for a few details about her science reading. "Why are you reading about Venus?" he asked.

Her face all but lit up at his question and the words came tumbling out as if she'd been waiting for him to ask all afternoon. "We're learnin' all 'bout the solar system," she explained. "We're doing projects with a partner and every one got a different planet. Well, not everyone 'cause there's only nine planets so some people got other things—like Blake and Zack got the asteroid belt."

"And who is your partner?"

"Amanda Stopper." She gave him a toothy grin. "Sharon wanted to be her partner, but Manda asked me first."

"When's this presentation?"

"Next Friday. Manda's comin' over on Saturday after dan… afternoon to work on it."

"That's two days away—you better get reading."

"Yes, sir."

Cricket returned to her spot on the couch and Clint picked up the document he had been reviewing during his phone call, but found his attention drawn to his daughter instead of the numbers. His mind fixated on the way Cricket had stopped herself from saying dance class in front of him. She did same thing when it came to her cheerleading or piano lessons. It was something she'd been doing since Delilah came home from Arizona—something she only did when he was around. It bothered Clint that his daughter felt the need to censor herself around him, but what truly made him feel guilty was that he was grateful she did it because there were fewer blatant reminders that he had a daughter and not a son. It wasn't that he didn't love Cricket—she was his baby girl—but she wasn't supposed to be his only child. There should have been a son and he couldn't help but feel cheated.

Publicly, Clint did all the right things, but it was harder when they were in private. When she was little, it had been easy. At three and four, she preferred to follow her mama around the house and all he had to do was make sure that whatever Asa Stopper bought for his daughter also found its way into Cricket's arms—albeit usually in a newer and more expensive version. But as she go older, Cricket began preferring his attention over her mama's but, unlike Asa who adored the way his daughter idolized him, Clint found himself resenting it. He smiled at her each Sunday when she slipped her little girl hand into his on their way up the church steps, but he couldn't shake the image of the son that should be walking next to him—the boy who would take over the company and continue the Caruth name.

"Daddy Bo." He looked up from his still unread file and over to his daughter. "May I go help Marianna file stuff?"

"Did you finish reading your book?

"Yes, sir."

"All right then—go on."

Rationally, Clint knew that Cricket wasn't to blame for her gender or her mama's hysterectomy, but as she walked out of his office—with her long braid of dark hair bouncing against the back of her dress—all he could think about was the son she should have been.

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A/N: Let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the delay folks. Both life and work decided to get crazy at the same time, which set me back on this and my Blicket fic. I hope y'all are still interested...

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-June 1983-

_This world is made of yesterdays—all it gives it takes away and leaves you in the rain._ It took Delilah a moment before her groggy head to make the connection that the sound she was hearing was the sound of music. _The fragile faith in what we see will merely be a memory—like lightning when we turn away_. It took another minute for her to realize that her clock radio was the source. She recognized the song as one by Michael English that was all over the Christian stations these days. Generally, Delilah loved worship music—it took her back to when she was a little girl in Austin with parents—but today it annoyed her and she reached over to turn it off before the song hit the chorus.

Most mornings she wondered why she even set her alarm. It wasn't as if she had anything to do—sure there were lunches, church functions to be planned, and her garden, but none of them really needed her specifically—even her garden would be taken care of by the staff if she didn't feel like going out to tend to it. Some days she was tempted to just stay in bed but she knew word would get back to Clint from either one of the staff or Cricket, so she always force herself to get up and give the illusion that she would have a productive day.

"Who is it?" she called at the knock on her bedroom door.

"It's me, Mama."

Delilah slid out from under the covers and pulled on her robe from where she had draped it at the foot of the bed the night before. "Come in."

"Morning, Mama," Cricket said brightly.

"Mornin' baby doll." She smiled at the sight of her daughter in her blue and white cheerleader uniform. "Did you eat breakfast?"

The ten-year-old nodded and began walking toward the bathroom without being prompted. Delilah followed, keeping an eye to make sure Cricket didn't knock over any of the bottles of perfume as she set her hair ribbons on the vanity. Once she was certain her things were safe she grabbed a bottle of pills from the counter.

"Do you have a headache?"

Delilah nodded as she dry swallowed two of the pills. "But I can still do your hair." She put the bottle back on the counter, picked up a hairbrush, and ran it through her own hair while Cricket watched her through the reflection in the mirror.

"Mama, why don't I have hair like yours? Sharon's hair is blonde like her mama's."

"Because your hair is like Daddy Bo's."

Usually, a comparison to her daddy was enough to make Cricket happy, but this time it wasn't enough. "But Manda's hair is blonde like yours and her daddy's is brown and Miss Gigi's hair is red."

Flashes of Punnett Squares and high school biology flashed through her head as she thought about how to simplify it. "Blonde hair is recessive, which means you don't have to get it from your parents—sometimes you can get it from your grandparents, so maybe Amanda gets her hair color from her granddaddy."

"Oh, okay, but I still wish I had hair like you and Manda."

Delilah sighed as she began running the brush through her daughter's dark hair. Amanda and Cricket were best friends but the two girls would get jealous of each other at the drop of a hat. For Amanda, it was the standard little girl things like new toys or a faster horse, but Cricket's jealous was different. Sure, Cricket pouted when Amanda showed up for church in a prettier new dress, but most what truly bugged her daughter was that Amanda was a complete daddy's girl and constantly got the attention Cricket always wanted.

"How do you want your hair?" Delilah asked. She may not be able to change Cricket's hair color, but she was determined to style it in a way that outshined Amanda."

"Cheerleader braids!" she excitedly referred to the way Delilah would weave ribbons in with French braided pigtails. "I brought all my ribbons."

"I can see that." Delilah picked up one of the ribbons and started weaving it into a French braid down the side of her daughter's hair. "Are you ready for your competition?"

"Yes. Is Daddy Bo going to come?"

"He's still in Houston."

"But he said he would come."

"He said he'd try."

The little girl's face changed into a pout. "If he's in Houston, he's not trying."

"Cricket," she scolded half-heartedly. "Daddy Bo is very busy with work."

"I know." Delilah watched her daughter's face through the mirror for a second before focusing back on her hair. She finished the first braid and was about to move to the next when Cricket said her name, "Mama?"

"Yes, Cricket?"

"Do you think Daddy Bo would come to my competition if I was led the cheers like Manda does? Because her daddy always comes to our competitions."

"Amanda's daddy's in banking and doesn't run a company as big as Caruth, so he doesn't have to work weekends like Daddy Bo."

Cricket considered this for a second and then said, "Well, maybe if I was head cheerleader, Daddy Bo could take a day off."

"Maybe, but you know I'll always be there to watch you cheer, no matter what."

"Yeah, I know, but…"

"But?"

"Nothing." Cricket bit her lip and added half-heartedly, "Never mind."

"Now, hold still or your second braid will be crooked," Delilah said and by the way Cricket stiffened her shoulders, Delilah knew her tone must have been too sharp. She didn't mean to snap at her daughter, but she could help the harshness from seeping into her voice. It wasn't that she mad at Cricket for wanting her daddy's attention, but in a way she was jealous. When Cricket was little, it was just like Delilah had imagined it would be—her little girl was happiest when she was at her mama's side and Delilah assumed this bond would continue to grow as Cricket got older.

But then something shifted and suddenly all Cricket cared about was her daddy's attention. The more distant Clint was, the more Cricket wanted to spend time with him and the harder she tried to prove herself worthy of his time. When Cricket was four or five, it was easier for Delilah to divert her daughter's attention with new toys or clothes and Clint could make up for a week of fatherly absence with a special dinner or surprise trip up to the hunting cabin. But as Cricket got older, these grand gestures were less effective. Delilah would talk to—well, argue with—Clint about it and for a couple weeks things would be better, but then there'd be a crisis at work and things would go back to how they were before. It was a vicious cycle.

Each time Delilah would try to fill the void Clint left in his daughter, but whatever she did was never enough. And each time Cricket's face fell, Delilah felt guilty—like she was a failure as a mother. The only time she didn't feel that way was when they were at church. Listening to the pastor's sermon with Clint's arm around her shoulder and Cricket nestled between them was the one time it felt right—like they were the family God intended them to be. But then the service would end and the transition to the coffee hour shifted the dynamic. They went from "family" to "The Caruths"—Clint's perfect family.

"Mama." Cricket's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You done?"

"Almost, baby doll." She picked up a can of hairspray. "Close your eyes," she said before spraying copious amounts onto her daughter's braids. "Go find Isobel and have her get your cheer bag together while I finish getting ready."

"Yes, Mama."

A little over an hour later, Delilah walked into the high school gymnasium with Cricket at her side. After promising her mama that she would remember the routine and do her best, Cricket skipped off to join Amanda and Sharon, leaving Delilah alone with the other mamas. During the competition, Delilah sat between Gigi Stopper and Carrie Lee Johnson and was painfully aware that Clint was not standing with the other daddies in the back of the gym. She smiled and clapped at all the right times and made the appropriate small talk, but each time the other women spoke their voices seemed laced with judgment. Through most of the competition, Delilah kept her hand on the one thing that could keep those feelings of failure at bay—the slender pill bottle in her purse.

During the awards ceremony, Delilah slipped into the bathroom and swallowed two more pills before returning to the gym to celebrate the girls' first place win. They all eventually made their way to the parking lot where Gigi turned to her husband and suggested he carry their little champion on his shoulders. Within seconds Amanda was on her daddy's shoulders and Sharon's daddy followed in suit. She shot a glare at the back of Gigi's head—the red headed woman had to of known that her little daddy-daughter victory suggestion would make Cricket feel left out.

Delilah increased her pace so she could catch up with her daughter. "Hey, baby doll, guess what we're doin' tonight?"

"What?"

"Flyin' to Houston to see Daddy Bo."

"Really?"

"Daddy Bo paged me. He wants us to head back straight to the airport," she lied. Their jet was in Houston with Clint, but Delilah knew she could throw the Caruth name around to get them on the first commercial flight or on a charter a jet need be.

"Awesome!" Cricket all but skipped up to Asa so she could shout up to Amanda about how her daddy was flying her to see him because they won.

"You're flying to Houston?" Gigi asked. "When did this happen?"

"Clint paged me and I gave him a call just before the awards ceremony," Delilah explained casually.

"I thought you went to the ladies room," Carrie Lee said.

"Yes," Gigi agreed. "I saw you go inside."

Delilah fought the urge to roll her eyes. Why did these women even care? It was none of their business what she was doing. "I stopped in the gym's office afterwards and used their phone to call Clint." Thankfully, they were just about at her Mercedes and she finally would be able to get away from these women. "Cricket," she called. "We need to get a move on so we can meet Daddy Bo for dinner."

After a chorus of bye y'alls, they slipped into the car. Delilah waited for Cricket to buckle her seatbelt before turning her key in the engine. The instant she did, the radio crackled to life. _Save me, save me, I need your love to rescue me—save me, won't you save me._ It was the same song that had been playing when she woke up that morning.

"Ugh."

She looked over to see her daughter reaching to change the station and slapped her hand away.

"Mama!" Cricket said with a pout.

"You don't just change the station."

"Fine," she said dramatically. "May I change the station?"

"No."

"But, Mama, can't we listen to the country station?"

Country was Cricket's favorite type of music—well, Clint's favorite type of music, so Cricket loved it by default. "I like this station."

"But all these songs sound the same—they're all about Jesus."

"Jesus Christ is our lord and savior—there cannot be too many songs about Him," Delilah snapped. Sometimes she wondered if her daughter listened in church. "Besides, country music is all about broken hearts and pickup trucks."

"Nuh-huh. Country music tells a story."

That was the same argument Clint always made. "I am not having this argument with you, Cricket. This is my car, so we listen to my station."

"That's because Daddy Bo gave it to you."

Delilah's mind was swimming. Did her daughter really think that little of her? She had half a mind to tell Cricket the truth—that Clint hadn't bothered to check in on his daughter, that he had probably forgotten she even had the competition. Maybe then Cricket would show some respect to the one parent who actually wanted to be involved in her life.

"Mama…" Delilah ignored her daughter and turned up the radio. "Mama!"

The worried urgency in her daughter's voice didn't reach Delilah's ears. All she heard was a little girl who wanted to so little to do with her mama that she couldn't even listen to the same radio station for a few minutes. "I'm not changing the station, Cricket."

"But, Mama, the light's…"

Delilah never heard the end of Cricket's sentence or saw the red light the ten-year-old was frantically pointing to. Instead, she heard the sickening crunch of metal against metal without ever seeing the truck that hit them. Somehow—despite the broken bits of windshield scattered around it—the radio kept playing. _You are the strength, oh yeah, you are the vine. Lighten my darkness—oh, save me in time_.

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A/N: Cliffhanger? What? I'll try not to leave you hanging for too long, but I can't make any promises. Besides, it's not that much of a cliffhanger since this fic falls into the same head-canon universe of my Blicket one, you should be able to piece together an idea of what happens next. That said, I won't abandon this and will finish it up. That I promise. Finally, as usual, please drop me a note with what you think-it means a lot.


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